Winter

I can’t get this one job opportunity out of my fucking skull. It just reverberates and taunts me. I hate the cold. I feel like it’s a personal affront to walk outside and be accosted by freezing temperatures, wet snow and icy wind. I grew up in Maine and lived there again in my late 20s. It’s wild and beautiful, but indoor weather 7 months out of the year. So why am I debating moving somewhere even colder? Somewhere I know no one? To work on a vegan sanctuary-outside often-in zero temps?

Because I need to be excited about something. I need the next step to feel massive and exuberant. I need it to be either a fuck yes or a hard no; not some milquetoast, beige, average, everyday thing. I think the death of my ultimate dream deserves the inception of a newer, better, bigger one. One focused on my purpose and spiritual ideals, one in line with both professional and altruistic goals. A plan that makes saying hello to this, override and overshadow all of the sorrow and devastation that comes along with saying good-bye.

There’s something about now that begs for action. I feel like I’m just rereading the same second to last chapter of a worn, beloved novel, trying to stave off the inevitable end. But in reality? What I will miss, won’t miss me; at least not for some time. What and who I’m leaving: a small, quaint local beach town, my “loving” group of rag tag friends who support one another through thick and thin “sans judgment”, doesn’t really exist anymore outside of my own mind, mired in pointless nostalgia. No one seems to understand the gravity of this. The profound sense of loss. After all, isn’t it just another Tuesday? Well, I guess that’s all it’s ever been.

I’m pretty sure it’s time to go. The only sure fire way I know to get through pain is to give back. To focus on others. To be selfless and overflowing with gratitude. The energy I’m around is dead, stale, cigarette butts and ash left over from too many drunken bonfires; reanimated bones jerking around in some spastic parody of dance. It’s not where anything new can grow and flourish. And I’m too sad to stick around for the final encore.

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